


By the Hand of Primus it be Writ

by Graceful_Storyteller



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awkward Sexual Situations, F/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Spark Sexual Interfacing (Transformers), world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-07 13:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graceful_Storyteller/pseuds/Graceful_Storyteller
Summary: Sparkmates have the name of their other half written on their spark casing.Windblade has a batch number. Starscream's batch number.Naturally they discover this at the most inconvenient of moments.





	By the Hand of Primus it be Writ

**Author's Note:**

> Instead of working on continuations of my other fics I was inspired to write some soulmate spark porn XD
> 
> When exactly this fic takes place I leave to your imagination, but I imagine they have known each other quite awhile to be comfortable showing ANY vulnerability.

Windblade gasps as Starscream presses warm, insistent kisses across her chest armour. She arches into his caresses, her hands grasping desperately at his helm and vents. She can feel him grinning, the sound of his cooling fans almost as loud as her own. He licks at a seam and Windblade whimpers his name.

“Open for me,” he whispers. “Show me your spark.”

She feels her chestplates part at his command. Her spark light spills out and chases away the darkness of the berthroom. Starscream's beautiful, cunning, eager face is illuminated as he hovers above her exposed spark, drinking in the sight with hungry optics.

Then a switch is flicked and his expression becomes as closed off as she's ever seen.

“What is that?”

Still lost in the blissful heat of her partner's frame it takes Windblade a moment to engage her vocaliser. “What? What is..?”

“There's a batch number on your spark casing.”

“Oh. That.” Her optics flicker as she tries not to let centuries worth of resentment rear up and ruin this for her. “According to legend that is the designation of my sparkmate. I've never known a bot with that many numbers in their name though have you?” She wraps a hand around the base of his helm and attempts to draw him towards her. “Pretend it's not there. I do.”

“Why?”

A frown begins to form as Starscream refuses to be moved.

“Why what?”

There's anger in his expression now, and suddenly Windblade is acutely aware that her spark is bared to a mech infamous for striking down his enemies without mercy. To her knowledge she and Starscream have not been enemies for a long time; but the former Decepticon is also legendary for his mercurial temper and being just as ruthless towards those foolish enough to befriend him as he is towards his many, many foes.

“What game are you playing,” Starscream hisses. “What do you expect to gain from this?”

“Starscream,” Windblade says slowly, “I think we need to stop so that you can explain what I've done wrong.”

Starscream is still for a long moment as he scrutinises her open and honest expression. Windblade holds still, allows him the opportunity to consider his options. She'd rather he not feel pressured into making a rash, potentially fatal for her, decision.

With a snarl of frustration Starscream scrambles off the berth and begins to pace. Windblade does her best to hide her relief as she closes her chestplates and switches on the overhead lights. She remains on the berth, her knees tucked under her chin and her arms wrapped around her legs as she mulls over what just happened. Starscream became upset when he saw the designation of her supposed sparkmate. Is this jealousy – can Starscream not bear the thought of a lover belonging to anyone but him? (A plausible theory; Windblade is almost certain she is the first bot Starscream has attempted to be intimate with since the war began). Or is it the strange designation inscribed on her spark casing which has rattled him? If it is, he would not be the first to prematurely end a tryst with her for such a reason.

However, Windblade suspects neither of these explanations are correct. Starscream does not usually encounter any trouble in voicing his disgust, and if this were a matter of him being possessive... Windblade tries not to imagine the smug, triumphant look on his faceplate as he overloads her spark until she is so delirious with pleasure that she follows his purred command to scratch out the batch number on her spark casing.

Batch number...

Windblade's wings flare as realisation hits her. “They're cold constructed.”

Starscream stops pacing the tight confines of the room to turn sharp optics on her.

“According to legend Solus Prime struck the sentio metallico with her hammer and made it so that we are all forged with the designation of our sparkmate written on our spark casing. It is the _first _name they are given that is written, not any designation they might take over time. Cold constructed bots are given _batch numbers_ and then choose their designations. That's why it's a number not a name. My sparkmate is cold constructed.”

The joy at finally knowing she is not the victim of Primus' cruel jest is somewhat diminished by the look Starscream gives her.

“Am I wrong? About how the cold constructed are named?”

After an agonisingly long moment of contemplation Starscream replies, “No.”

Unsure how to interpret his expression, Windblade asks cautiously, “Do you know whose batch number this is?” An errant thought about what _usually_ triggers these sorts of moods in Starscream makes her tank roil. “Sweet Solus please tell me it's not _Megatron's_ number.”

Starscream physically recoils before descending into semi-hysterical laughter. Windblade lets him get it out of his system. She'd rather he laugh at her than return to being that eerily still predator assessing her for the slightest sign of weakness.

Eventually, however, her patience wears thin and she snaps an aggravated, “What?!” at him.

After a few more manic giggles Starscream regains his composure. “It's not Megatron's batch number,” he says with an almost self-deprecating twist to his lip-plates. “It's mine.”

“Yours,” Windblade repeats slowly.

“Mine,” he confirms, and his smile is most definitely self-deprecating now.

It takes Windblade a moment to process that information. “I'm not sure if I believe you.”

“There are records to verify.” He pauses, frowns thoughtfully. “I think there are records. Prowl probably has the file on me the Enforcers put together stored somewhere, if he hasn't memorised the whole thing.”

Windblade continues to stare, suspicion and something else scratching at the back of her processor. “If it's your batch number, why were you...like _that_ when we first met? If I'm your sparkmate then you should also be mine and my name should be written on your spark casing. Have you never looked for the name of your sparkmate?”

Resentment flashes across Starscream's faceplate. “I assure you that I have been intimately acquainted on many occasions with my graffiti-free spark casing. Perhaps that has something to do with Solus Prime meddling with the _sentio metallico _of Caminus instead of the production lines of _Cybertron_.”

Realisation strikes hard and Windblade fights to keep her sympathy from showing and further aggravating Starscream.

Starscream shrugs his wings. “Not that it matters. If the bots forged on Cybertron _had _designations written on their spark casings (which I highly doubt they did) they didn't know to look for them. Or if they did they knew better than to go blabbing about it. Functionalism and the notion of sparkmates don't exactly go together; too much chance of ending up believing someone from the _wrong classification_ is the love of your life. Bots are likely to make stupid decisions if that sort of temptation is dangled in front of them.”

Something clicks in Windblade's processor. “Is that what you thought I was doing? Did you think I intentionally carved your batch number on my spark casing to, what, manipulate you into...something?”

“I'd never heard your stupid legend; I didn't know what to think,” Starscream huffs indignantly. “How would you have reacted if I'd come into your office with _your_ name painted on my wings and refused to give an explanation?”

“I...suppose I would have been confused. And angry.” She ex-vents heavily. “I'm sorry Starscream. I assumed you knew about sparkmates and were questioning the form of the designation rather than the existence of the designation. Looking past the uniqueness of my mark has been quite the stumbling block for many of my past lovers.”

“Oh?”

Windblade suppresses a smile. Underneath the veil of disinterest the spark of jealousy is startlingly clear.

“I know it's hard to believe, but some bots will rev you up, get offended by a simple designation, and leave you completely unsatisfied. I can't tell you the number of times I've had to touch my own spark casing to relieve my charge.” She falls back into a lazy sprawl, putting her frame completely on display. Starscream follows her with his optics, the small smile tugging at his lip-plates letting her know that he knows _exactly_ what she's doing. “Are you one of those bots Starscream?”

The tension bleeds out of his frame as he returns to the berth. He starts at her knee and presses small kisses up her thigh, past her hip and abdominal plating, to just over her spark. He meets her optics; his gaze, like his frame, a pleasant weight upon her. “It doesn't make a difference? That it's my designation on your spark casing?”

They shouldn't be doing this. The logical part of Windblade's processor knows that they should talk, should share what being a sparkmate entails in their respective cultures before diving into an interface. But Windblade isn't in the mood to be logical, not when she has finally seen the light. Not now that she knows Primus had a plan all along.

“From what I have heard the science of interfacing does not change just because it's with your sparkmate.”

“That wasn't what I meant,” he says with an amused huff as he kisses along an armour seam to her neck cables. A half-truth.

“I know,” Windblade replies as she runs her hands up his sides.

“I wouldn't want you to be under the mistaken impression that this is anything other than a casual frag. I don't want to Conjux you. I don't feel any obligation to be nice to you. This isn't going to be sweet and tender Autobot love-making. I'm going to overload you until you're screaming my designation, and I won't in any way be gentle getting you there.” 

As wonderful as that sounds to Windblade's hedonistic side, the much larger and more responsible part of her knows that there are certain misconceptions she needs to quash before things get out of hand. Luckily, she has an idea of how to do just that without ruining the mood.

Windblade waits until some of the tension has eased from Starscream's wings before flipping him so that she is on top. She hovers over him, knees straddling his waist, and waits for him to digest the new position. After the initial impulse to forcefully regain control passes, Starscream's grip on her frame relaxes. Smiling, Windblade places a finger against his lip-plates, slowly tracing their shape before moving to the curve of his jaw. Softly, she begins to recite the story of Primus' gift as it was once told to her.

“According to legend, Primus wanted each and every one of his creations to know love. He therefore blessed every spark with the knowledge that somewhere out there was another who would understand it, would support it, would cherish it. They were two halves of a whole and when they came together they would become stronger, better, more enriched. They would become one again.”

Starscream opens his mouth to protest and Windblade swoops down, forcing him into a kiss. He growls, his hands clenching against her thighs, but he makes no move to dislodge her when they part. She presses kisses along his neck cables before moving to croon in his audial.

“The legend continues that Solus Prime became saddened by what she saw. Those around her sacrificed their friendships in pursuit of an idealised sparkmate. They misunderstood the teachings of Primus, expecting the other half of their spark to love them unconditionally, to bow to their needs, to offer everything and expect nothing. As such nobot was good enough – none of their loving and supportive friends ever met the criteria. They were cast aside in search of something more, and resentments began to grow and dissatisfaction festered. Solus tried to chase ignorance from their minds but her successes were limited. In the end she acknowledged that the only way to end the strife was to provide a verifiable way of determining your sparkmate. She struck the sentio metallico with her hammer and willed the metal to reflect the gift Primus gave. From that moment on all sparks came into the world with the designation of their sparkmate engraved on their spark casing.”

Her hands move to his wings, sweeping across the broad planes in firm, concise movements. Starscream arches into her touch, his fingers digging into the seams of her thighs. His cooling fans switch back on and Windblade grins.

“It took time to adjust to the change. Many thought it a trick, a deception meant to make them blindly pledge their spark to another. Eventually they learnt that there was nothing but the guiding hand of Primus behind the designation. Their other half was not there to coddle but to challenge them. They supported but did not carry. They were not perfect, selfless beings; they only loved and needed love in return.”

What she says next is not part of the original tale but something Windblade believes to be a necessary addition.

“Still, there were some who refused to believe. They looked upon their spark casing and saw a designation that was not listed in any database. They refused to believe Primus would be so cruel as to place their other half so far away - across the galaxy and beyond the stars. Or that he would play the joke of inscribing not a name but a series of numbers...”

Laser-like focus returns to Starscream's optics as he flips their positions. He kisses down to her chestplates, his fingers continuing to dig deep under her plating. “Open,” he snarls, touching wires he has no right to touch.

Windblade complies without a second thought, once again bearing her spark to him. Still radiating that intense focus, Starscream firmly traces the designation on her spark casing with the tip of one finger. Windblade whimpers as pleasure races across her sensor-net. Her optics offline and she reaches blindly for Starscream when his touch migrates to the corona of her spark. The sensation is almost overwhelming – a testament both to Starscream's skill and the length of time since Windblade last let another close to her spark. With her charge so high she doubts it will be long before she overloads.

The sound of armour unlocking brings Windblade's optics back online. She watches in wonder as Starscream bears his spark to her – a feat she'd always thought his paranoia would forbid him from doing.

“Starscream,” she whispers, her vocals resonating with the awe she feels right down to her core.

Starscream's smirk is less confident than usual as he brings his chestplate into contact with hers. She has just enough time to judge that his spark casing is, indeed, blank before their new position prevents her from seeing anything other than the burning intensity of his optics. Any words she might have spoken catch in her vocaliser. All she can do is hold tight to him and brace herself for what comes next.

Their sparks meet and, as they begin to merge, ecstasy rockets through Windblade's systems. She throws back her helm and arches into Starscream's frame. Starscream chuckles, unfairly composed. He takes control of the merge, pulsing energy into her and causing her to release a pleasure-drenched moan.

“If I'd known you capable of making such a sound I would have done this long ago.”

Somewhat irked by the taunting, Windblade gathers her strength and returns the energy pulse. The sharp gasp and whimper against her audial is more than a little gratifying. “Same.”

After another minute of breathless banter they settle into a rhythm, the spark energy flowing easily between them. Windblade clings to Starscream, only vaguely aware of the platitudes spilling from his lip-plates. She is happy to lose herself in the exchange and her building charge, her optics offline and her faceplate pressed against her partner's neck cables.

They reach overload as one and together scream their release.

An indeterminable amount of time later, Windblade reboots to find Starscream slumped strutlessly over her. She groans, shoving at him with arms that seem to have lost all their strength. “Move,” she grumbles. “You're heavy.”

Optics dim but clearly online, Starscream blatantly ignores her – right up until she goes for the delicate wiring at the base of his wings. With a hiss and creative curse Starscream dramatically rolls onto his back. He immediately closes his chestplates, but Windblade chooses to keep hers open. After a few minutes of petulant sulking, Starscream's curiosity gets the better of him and he shifts onto his side. Supporting his helm with one hand, he reaches out with the other to touch her spark casing. Specifically, to caress his own designation carved there by a divine hand. Windblade turns her helm to watch his contemplative expression.

“The term 'sparkmate' on Cybertron is an old way of saying Conjunx Endura. A term for two Cybertronians who for some reason wish to spend the rest of their lives together. The concept of destiny has no place in the word.”

Windblade hums thoughtfully. “That makes sense. Most sparkmates eventually become Conjunx on Caminus.”

Starscream pauses. “Most?”

“A sparkmate doesn't have to be a romantic partner. Some bots are happy to have an Amica who challenges them to become their best self but hate that in their Conjunx. Others have no interest in romantic relationships – either because they don't like to merge their sparks or they see it as an act they only do with strangers – and so want the stability of an Amica. Some sparkmates agree in the beginning to be Amica but eventually Conjunx. Primus wanted us to know love, but love takes many forms.” She rests her hand over his as she meets his optics. “We don't have to define it right now. We have plenty of time to let it define itself.” A smirk twists her lip-plates. “However, I'm going to insist the definition contains more overloads like that.”

Starscream's grin matches her. “Well, that's one thing we agree on at least.”

**Author's Note:**

> I also wanted to add something about the reason Camiens have their names inscribed on their spark casing when they die is so that they are forever beside their sparkmate. I may have to explore that in another fic ;)


End file.
